You-jeong Jeong - The Good Son

Hae-jin and his grandfather weren’t well off even before the illness. They had been making ends meet with the government aid his grandfather received, and the little he earned collecting paper for recycling. Until recently, Hae-jin hadn’t needed to get a job: though his grandfather was an infamous drunk, he wasn’t so unconscionable as to rely on his young grandson to support them. In fact, he insisted, ‘You focus on school, I’ll take care of everything else.’ But then he’d collapsed.

I was busy at that time, too. Having been selected as a member of the national swimming team, I was in a special winter training camp to prepare for the junior world championships in New Zealand, and because of my schedule, Hae-jin and I couldn’t hang out much. Mother updated me on how he and his grandfather were doing each day when she came to the pool. It seemed that she was going to the hospital regularly with food.

On the last day of 2005, the coach cut the training session short and gave everyone the afternoon off. He told us to go home and get pampered by our mothers, and come back refreshed the next day at 9 a.m. I don’t know how she’d heard, but Mother was already waiting for me outside. She looked happy and excited. Her straight hair was grazing the shoulders of a white overcoat I’d never seen before, and she was even wearing make-up.

I fastened my seat belt. ‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘Dongsung-dong,’ she said, which didn’t explain anything.

We arrived in front of the hospital where Hae-jin’s grandfather was being treated. I was confused. Hae-jin ran out. I unbuckled my seat belt. I had read the situation to mean that Mother was going somewhere in Dongsung-dong, so I was to hang out with Hae-jin.

‘No, don’t get out,’ Mother said.

Hae-jin grinned at me and got in the back seat.

‘Happy New Year,’ Mother said to him, a day early.

‘You too, Mother.’ Hae-jin pulled something out from behind his back and handed it to her. A heart-shaped red lollipop as big as her face, with a message written in white: The apple of my eye .

A smile spread across Mother’s face as she took it, her cheeks flushing and her eyes downcast. As far as I knew, that was the first time Hae-jin had called her Mother. Maybe she was moved by that, or maybe she liked that she was the apple of his eye. In any case, I’d never seen that expression on her face.

‘Did your grandfather give you permission to come?’ Mother asked, carefully laying the lollipop on the dashboard.

Hae-jin grinned. ‘He thinks I’ve gone to work.’

Mother smiled back, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror. There was still no explanation of where we were going, and why. I didn’t ask; since she’d said Dongsung-dong earlier, I figured that was it. Hae-jin asked me about training camp and practice, but I was consistent with my monosyllabic answers: good, no, yeah. Then Mother took over the conversation, asking about his grandfather’s illness and discussing books or movies that only the two of them knew about. The car weaved through hellish traffic before arriving at Daehangno. Mother circled a car park a few times before finally landing a spot.

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

We got out and walked the streets, which were adorned with twinkling fairy lights. There were so many people on the footpath that it was difficult to walk side by side. Mother was jostled and almost fell. I reached out to help, but Hae-jin was already by her side, holding her up. When she was knocked back again a few steps later, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and walked alongside her. I had no choice but to fall behind.

A little later, we arrived at a quiet Italian restaurant. I still didn’t know why we were in Dongsung-dong, but I didn’t ask. Mother raised her glass of juice and said it was bittersweet: she was one year older now, and Hae-jin and I were also growing older. I assumed we were just celebrating the new year. I don’t remember what the food was like. It must have been mediocre. Or maybe it was my mood that was mediocre.

Hae-jin and I had met two years before, and ever since then, Mother had seemed to think of him as more than just her son’s friend. She was always looking at him in moments that should have revolved around me – whether it was at my birthday party or a school event – watching him with soft, gentle eyes, the same eyes I’d seen every day of my childhood, aimed at my brother.

When it was just Hae-jin and me together, we were the best of friends. It was like that when it was just Mother and me, too. Like they both lived to be with me. But now that we were all together, I felt like the third wheel. I didn’t like how this atmosphere had formed so naturally. I felt like a dick for resenting their bond, which only made me feel worse.

We left the restaurant about an hour later. The two of them led the way through the crowd, which seemed to have doubled since we’d gone inside. We stopped at a shop. Mother bought us each a checked scarf and slung them around our necks. Mine was green and Hae-jin’s was yellow. She said they were New Year gifts. She said we looked great in them, but her gaze was fixed on Hae-jin.

Next, they stopped in front of the art-film cinema Hypertech Nada, which had a sign over the entrance: Nada’s Final Proposal . Mother went to the ticket booth.

‘What are we doing here?’ I asked Hae-jin.

‘What?’ Hae-jin laughed. ‘You came all the way here without knowing why?’

The air had turned warmer. My scarf felt tight. I took it off and sat down. How was I supposed to know what we were doing if nobody said anything? Did they think I was a mind-reader?

Nada’s Final Proposal was a film festival that played all of the year’s best films that hadn’t done well at the box office. That day it was showing a Brazilian movie called City of God . It turned out that Hae-jin had suggested coming here; he’d wanted to see the film when it opened, but had given up when he realised it was adult-rated. When he’d heard that it was being screened again at Nada, he said, he’d thought of Mother, who could accompany him as a guardian.

He was right about that: we settled in our seats without anyone stopping us. The movie was hilarious and effervescent; I soon forgot my gloominess. Set against the backdrop of Rio de Janeiro’s favelas, which teemed with poverty, drugs and crime, the story followed a group of young gang members. It was also a coming-of-age story about two boys who went down different paths, one becoming a photographer and the other ruling the streets.

I started laughing from the opening scene, when a chicken escaped its certain death. I giggled throughout the film. When Li’l Zé ran into the motel and gunned everyone down, I even chortled out loud. That was when I noticed I was the only person in the cinema who was laughing. I realised that Mother was staring at me. Her eyes, glistening like water, were asking, What’s so funny?

After the movie, she was quiet as we walked back to the car. Hae-jin also looked straight ahead without talking. I followed behind. I didn’t know what their problem was.

‘That was disturbing,’ Mother said once she started the car. ‘I can’t believe that’s based on a true story. Life can be so sad.’

So that was why she had been looking at me oddly in the cinema. It had been fun and exciting for me, but it must have been an unsettling and depressing movie. Which part was supposed to be unsettling or depressing? I wondered.

‘Happy stories aren’t usually based in reality,’ Hae-jin replied after a moment.

I turned to look at him.

‘Having hope doesn’t make things less awful,’ he continued. ‘Things aren’t so clear-cut. People are complicated.’ He met my gaze. His eyes were asking, Right?